


A Series of Unfortunate Events

by perifairy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Third Wheels, We Stan Friendships, in this house we love and appreciate the ultimate third wheel sam wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perifairy/pseuds/perifairy
Summary: “It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that. And you’re sounding like a broken record.”Sam Wilson had the fortune of having the front row seat watching the train wreck that is Steve and Natasha in a series of unfortunate events.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marvelxtina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelxtina/gifts), [amndalmd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amndalmd/gifts).



> For Ally and Amanda, my personal warriors in this economy.
> 
> I do not own Marvel, or the MCU, or any of its characters.
> 
> If I had, Steve and Natasha would have already been the ultimate power couple of the said universe and Sam Wilson will be the next Captain America. 
> 
> Highly unbeta'ed because this was written on the spur of the moment aka an emotional downward spiral.

They showed up on his doorstep on all their disheveled glory.

He could almost hear his late grandma standing beside him, by the door, tongue in cheek as if to say, _I knew you were trouble when you walked in._

_What the._

Captain America, Steve Rogers, he recognized. Of course. The redhead beside him - he eyed the pair warily, for he knew her barely - just from that time she swerved that sleek car of hers by the sidewalk with a smile so curious it could kill. 

She wasn’t smiling now. 

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us.” 

He knew they were trouble when they walked in.  

“Not everyone.” 

Sam opened the door wider, letting them pass.

Down the rabbit hole, the mad hatter awaits.

 

* * *

His life post military, for the lack of a better word, was simple. As simple as him getting up on the wee hours of the morning for a run, so mechanical, he would look forward seeing that nice old lady by the block walking her poodle at the same time. Honking cars, children going to school milling about, had been familiar. He relished on simple breakfasts, of butter toast and coffee and washing the dishes, then he would call his mother to check up on her. All this - like clockwork. He would dress up for VA meetings on Wednesdays, and pay his bills on Thursdays, do groceries on Fridays. Simple. Routinary.

Simple and routinary had been good.

He couldn’t shake himself off that rattled feeling, no matter how mild, at the thought that there were two wanted people seeking refuge in his home. Not one, but two. On the run not from the government but from some top secret security organization that dealt with aliens and terrorists alike. In his meager, simple home intruding his meager, simple life. His heart thudded against his chest. Sam could swear a bomb would go off anytime. 

There were whispers, and some shuffling, and more whispers as Sam hedged closer by his bedroom door to give himself some... context. Context had also been good. Knowing the context of what he was dealing with helped him draw the worries at bay, what mattered and what didn’t. By no ground could they possibly call him off on his snooping, in his own bedroom too, but the guilt tugged his mind stayed anyway.

He tinkered with the knob and its lock. The door budged, perhaps unnoticeable, and although he knew deep down Steve - his newfound friend - would not blast him off to pieces at the attempts of intrusion, he hoped he could say the same about the redhead with him. Natasha Romanoff. He has heard enough things to know he should be scared. 

Proceeding with caution, he turned the other way, giving his guests more time to clean up. He passed by the door one more time to no avail. _To waffle-making it is._

When breakfast had been served and they went back to regrouping mode, Sam had the unwanted luxury of observing them for the first time. He stood at the other end of the dining hall, a respectable distance as they discussed their strategy. Sam watched them with interest, the warnings his mother gave him about being too perceptive when he was younger ringing in his mind with alarm. But he couldn’t help it - couldn’t help notice the way they just understand each other, the way they  _simply_ click. That was the first thing he noticed about Steve and Natasha. Together, they have some weird innate ability to make things look _simple_. 

_(“So run this by me again. You want to take down a long withstanding top secret security organization older and larger than yourself?”_

_“Careful, Mr. Wilson. He’s ninety five.”_

_“And not dead.” Steve didn't move an inch. “If your eye causes you to sin, then take the eye out. It will be better for you to lose one eye than everything else into hell.”)_

Sam had no idea back then. But when he has taken part on the grand collapse of SHIELD and succeeded, lying by the bedside of his friend - he would remember that moment he looked at them fair and square for the first time, sitting around his breakfast table. Marvin Gaye drowned in the background, and only then would Sam understand - Steve and Natasha made things look simple not because they were, but because they deal with it together.

In the end, it would all tie up - from the moment they all met to that moment where he found the strength to fling a file right on their hands like he was handing some sort of resume. They needed a man for the job and  _voila_ \- he was throwing simple and routinary down the road. 

“So the real question is, how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is, you don’t.”

The next thing he knew - he was high up in the air, throwing a man down. He had never felt more alive.

* * *

 

Steve glanced at Natasha, and Natasha glanced at Steve. 

“SHIELD, HYDRA, it all goes." 

_What the. Of all the dumb decisions —_

Sam took a look at Natasha, whom he only really had the chance to know up close hours ago. By up close, he meant the way she kicked his head on a slight angle, enough to miss the bullet heading his way.

This, in less than ten seconds flat. Fifteen, if he wanted to be realistic. Then and there he knew, never taking his eyes off her that he might have met _the_  woman who can bring Captain America to his knees. Chances were neither of them had realized it at that point, but who was he to meddle? But let it be said, he knew it first.

When Sam saw the clench on Steve's jaw, he was certain they were determined to do it.  _Of all the dumb decisions —_

The exchange of conversations were broad but Natasha and Steve never spoke a word to each other. It was a spare exchange of glances at best but Sam could tell, this was what would become of them. As for him? In a few seconds, he would be roped into it like he was born for it. Apparently this was his life now. Eat breakfast and aid fugitives on the run a few hours after - who knew? 

_(“Everyone we know wants to kill us.”_

_He had to laugh. Natasha rolled her eyes._

_“A hundred and seventy-seven countries isn't everyone, Steve. Don't be too dramatic.” She sauntered off to the bathroom, leaving the men to take a breather at what had been a close encounter from their pursuers. Sam took off the remains of his suit. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger after all - and along with it an apathetic dalliance with death, guised in humor drier than Sahara._

_Steve only looked at Sam, weariness obvious in his stance._

_“No, not everyone."_

_They shared a small smile, a bit wistful - no, aiding fugitives on the run hardly counted as a new adventure. But if he daresay, be bold?_

_Things were so much simpler back then.)_

"Don't look at me. I do what he does, only slower." 

He sighed, already counting all the ways he could escape death this time. Sam would never have known. And if this man who supposedly pulled a Lazarus had anything to say about it, he would have agreed. It had been a weird day. 

"It looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain.”

The man called Fury had looked at Steve in the eye. (There was a pun in there somewhere). And then it was time to go. Together, Steve and Natasha, with the help of some friends, took down SHIELD.

* * *

 

God, this was painful. Sam Wilson appreciated the symbolism though, a deserted cemetery, and the goodbyes. Damn, the goodbyes - he hated them, as did the next person in this world, but most especially if it was unnecessary.

_What the. Of all the dumb decisions they had to make -_

Sam could see the look in _his_ eyes. And the look on _her_ eyes. Their mouth seemed to form words - but not of the same story their eyes had been telling. Had wanted to tell. It was all but unnecessary pain. What happened to “you jump, I jump”? _God_ , this was painful to watch.

When he thought he heard Natasha say something that sounded like “Sharon”, he decided it was time to take a hike.

_(“You kissed her.”_

_“Sam.”_

_“Of all the dumb decisions you had to make —“_

_“I saw you. Weren’t you egging me on?”_

_“I was, for a second there. Until I remembered Natasha and... damn. Of all the dumb decisions you had to make —“_

_“It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that. And you’re sounding like a broken record.”_

_“And you’re an idiot. You know it is what it is. And the broken record thing? Have been for years. Comes with the territory.”_

_“Also? I ain’t about fixing this broken record, not at least until you pull your head up from your ass.”_

_“With friends like you, who needs enemies?”)_

He saw Steve approach, his face calm but impassive, clutching a folder in his hands like a lifeline. Being perceptive was a pain in the ass. He hated to be thinking these things but he went for it anyway. He gave his friend a subtle shake of his head. If there was pain that came along with that impassive look Steve was having, Sam would take that.

They made it to the car, with Sam sneaking one last glance at the redhead on the other side of the cemetery. Unfortunately too far away.

“She ain’t coming.”

It wasn’t really a question.

“No, she isn’t.”

Steve's gaze remained intent on the road ahead. He tapped his fingers on the file in his hands. Then he closed his eyes, releasing the breath Sam would bet he even had no idea he was holding in.

God, this was painful and funny to watch all at once. 

“Of all the dumb decisions you had to make, this one tops them all.”

The captain flicked the folder in the backseat. He revved up the car after, with a smile so disarmingly charming, Sam was _convinced_ —

“Why do I have a feeling I’m gonna be hearing that for a long while?”

Yes, he definitely would.

* * *

 

**_tbc._ **


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do I have a feeling I’m gonna be hearing that for a long while?”
> 
> Yes, he definitely would.
> 
> And so it goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For B, as promised. This took me a while to write and I'm sorry.
> 
> I do not own Marvel, or the MCU, or any of its characters.
> 
> If I had, I'm not dying from stevenat starvation.
> 
> Still unbet-ed because I still need to hire a friend who will love me enough to do it for me.

“I was told I make a mean martini.”

“Hmm.”

He accepted the glass she offered, with a look that both said he was glad to see her at the same time, dubious, that she was here again for real. Sam felt the __sting__  against his throat, a burn that buzzed his senses awake. Something he had - at the back of his mind - attributed to the maker of the said mean martini. 

“It is mean,” and after a beat, “how have you been?” 

Natasha retrieved her glass from his hands, not quite avoiding his gaze. “Peachy. You?” 

“So are you back? Like, back _back_  for real?”

Her skirt, a finish from the black and white cocktail ensemble she sported, made a slight whoosh sound against the balcony railing when she turned to him fully.

“I have learned,” Natasha offered, “that time is a luxury as much as it is of essence.” 

“Touche."

Not that he knew in full what it was like to live the life his friends led - avenging the world, saving lives at the cost of theirs - but Sam found himself agreeing. He had missed Natasha after they all split on the wake of the fall of SHIELD. To him, seeing her here again when he (and Steve, though they never spoke about it) dreaded any news of her getting caught in the wind, ending up dead during the time apart - on the other hand, was his chosen luxury.

“And you? You never really gave me an answer.” 

Sam pulled away from his own thoughts. “You gave me a non-answer,” to which Natasha remarked with a shrug. 

“The usual, Nat,” he complied, “chasing leads, discouraging Steve in making more dumb decisions while trying not to die in between. Y'know, the usual.”

“And nothing has come up?”

“Trail’s gone cold. Every single time. Methinks it’s a blessing in disguise.” Sam leaned against the railing, surveying the city lights below, the events of the past year still as vivid as if they happened yesterday. “Steve might have pulled on that thread quite a bit more than necessary. He told me you asked him to be careful, and I wish he goddamned listened.”

_(“You think it’s a good idea to talk to him about it?_

_Immediately, Sam grabbed a hold of the drink Steve was nursing. When he smelled the liquor, it was far from the usual Asgardian mead smell, and he had to wonder what about this drink was making the captain spurt some high-class idiotic nonsense. He turned to Steve with sharp eyes._

_“About what, **exactly?”** _

_“To look after Natasha, take care of her. Kinda feels like I had to, you know?”_

_“Uh. No.”_

_“I’m her partner.”_

_“Right, not your daughter to give away to man with a blessing,” Sam challenged, with a spike of pent-up aggression which he had come to realize after a second at the  restrained sound of his voice. He made an extra note to say the word blessing as if it was curse. Is this how Steve was going to be now that all the leads on the Winter Soldier had turned empty? Damn, how his hands were itchy at the thought of committing airstrike on a one-on-one chance encounter with their ghost. Anything but this._

_“No, no.” He repeated. “No, no, no. Also, if Natasha finds out about this -”_

_“I’m not planning on hiding it from her, not when she’s right there.”_

_A migraine was starting to form from the deep seated parts of his brain, materializing somewhere in his temples. Of course, Steve would know. How could he not - and make the gesture of a blessing so innocuous, out of sheer damn good-will for a friend he cared (extremely about, if Sam might add) - when he was damn right staring and tactically diverting when he thought he was being caught looking? Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, it was what was served in the chili’s tonight._

_Sam sighed._

_“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this one, am I?”_

_Steve gulped down the rest of his drink. Sam watched him with interest, like that of a non-judgmental friend who was watching a brother spiral into madness but had his hands off in surrender to do anything about it - except to reach for an imaginary bucket of popcorn and lie down to enjoy the show._

_He might have seen Steve gather his courage before disagreeing with him, the alcohol helping to lift his already high spirits. The symbolism was not lost on him._

_“I’m going to do it.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“You’re not going to stop me?”_

_“Okay, don’t do it.”_

_Steve regarded him with an annoyed expression on his face._

_“No, I will.”_

_Of all the dumb decisions he had to make -_

_“I heard that, Sam.”_

_“Thought you might.” Sam took a sip from Steve’s glass, watching the scene unfold. He definitely needed it. Natasha had started to walk away from the bar, as Steve made himself comfortable against the counter, engaging Dr. Banner. He took another swallow._

_“Damn, this is some strong shit.”_

_Later, Sam would find out it was rather called the mean martini.)_

* * *

“That’s why I __asked__ , not demanded.” Natasha smiled ruefully, her manicured nails tracing the rim of her glass. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

With a shake of his head, Sam wiggled his index at his companion’s face, close enough to touch the tip of her nose as a playful close.

“ _ _Darling__ ,” and at the sharp rise of Natasha’s eyebrow at the endearment, Sam just had to wince and soldier on after a second, “I would like to believe I have only seen the tips of it.” He pressed his thumb and his index together to a tipping gesture, as if to make his point. “Aaaaand I’m done. Zip. Nada. Now the cross is all yours to bear.”

Sam thought the eyebrow raise couldn’t possibly get any higher, but it did.

“Partners, and all that?”

He offered. Weakly. 

“Well, we’d have to re-oil our gears to make it work like the old times,” the redhead mused. If there was pain or nostalgia at her voice, it was masked in nonchalance. “Been a while.”

“Him doing __the__  peppy talkie, that’s not going to earn him back good graces, no?” 

That earned Sam a laugh, the sound reminding him of wind chimes (on the lower octave). The metaphor was _so_  horrible, he was _so_ not going on about making Hallmark cards for a living if this whole avenging thing did not work out; but he was so damned happy to have her back even for this. He missed her friendship.

“And you think checking up on me, making sure I’m alright, is earning you one?" 

“No, I’m here to proclaim my innocence. I had, __absolutely__ , in no terms, had anything to do with that. That’s all on him.” He turned around, admiring the glass roof architecture of the Stark facility, which he realized had given him the perfect opportunity to crinkle his nose in distaste at the sight below by the bar. “God, I wish sometimes he __listened__.” 

And more of a death wish than an afterthought, he added in a low voice, “Wish both of you did.”

“What’s this got to do with me?”

But Sam knew that Natasha _knew_ , that it was everything - that they were both stubborn, and they never listened. That they craved for each other but thought the other deserved better. So she was settling for the next best thing (by distancing herself) she thought he deserved, and he was settling for giving a blessing because he thought it made her happy and it was what she deserved. But that ultimately, Sam was going to be caught in a middle in this bizarre non-love triangle, with a front row ticket to a series of unfortunate events when it came to them. The moment they pull their heads out of their asses - _ _I swear to God, really__  - it was going to a goddamned grand payoff and both of them would owe him a drink worth more than the trouble they had given him.

_(They were able to loot fine wines from the smuggling mission, much like gathering spoils of war. In the cramped space of their motel room, he suggested to start the party with a random bottle which ended up to be a true expensive: a Château d'Yquem 1811. He was proud to say it was his own version of Midas' touch._

_How else were they going to celebrate as full-pledged adults, on the run from the government? A classic tribute to the wonders of Never Have I Ever._

_“Never have I ever,” Sam started, and by god he had been itching to ask this, by god he had known, but God so help him -_

_“Fuck you, Sam.”_

_Natasha was being Natasha of course - she had some uncanny ability to read the onslaught of thoughts on anyone else’s minds, him and Steve being on the top list (Steve on the top list, always on the top ever since God knows when anyway). Sam had a few rounds of the wine on himself, so he was being uncharacteristically giddy and brave. He almost wanted to thank her for sparing him the trouble of saying it._

_But then he also wanted to be a little shit, a pay off for not sparing him the trouble of watching everything - from the moment they stepped on his doorstep -  go down. Painstakingly slow. So the little shit was who he chose to be that moment._

_“Never have I ever slept with anyone else on the team.”_

_“Fuck you, Sam.”_

_That was Steve._

_Natasha took the cue to offer a wordless toast to him, their glasses clinking - and with complete synchronicity, they both drank their glass of Château d'Yquem 1811, bottoms-up._

_"That’s my brave little soldier,” Sam mock chastised. As an equal mock reward, he procured a key card from his suit pockets, the gold carvings of the hotel they just evacuated glinting in the low yellow light. Laying it down on the carpeted floor, he smoothing the card with his fingers, an effort to make it shinier._

_“Was able to sweet talk in a presidential suite,” he mused, “and it was on the house, an offer of thanks for our efforts in re-establishing their security and reputation.”_

_He then took the bottle of wine cast aside, the remains being poured out on the two, now empty shot glasses before him._

_“Room service. Jacuzzi. More and more wine.”_

_He flicked the key card at them, Natasha catching the sleek metal with her fingers._

_“Now please get the hell out of my sight, work the loved-up eyes out of your systems that’s giving me headaches for weeks, and you can both tell me tomorrow morning, that I, Sam Wilson, am the best wingman ever.”_

_It was his turn to empty his glass. “More than Barton. And Barnes. Understood?”_

_He woke up with a glorious hangover - the grand payoff- to a basket of Château Margaux 1787 and spa and sauna service package card. There was a note._

_“You are the best wingman ever.”_

_“Hayatimi seviyorum,” he said, kissing the bottle of his more expensive wine to partake alone.)_

The moment they pull their heads out of their asses - _ _I swear to God, really__  - it was going to a goddamned grand payoff and both of them would owe him a drink. But that would come on a later time, on a sweeter and better time. 

“Dunno,” he said in a bit of a teasing. “Do tell me when you’ve figured it out.” 

“You’re not doing this whole setting up thing between us, aren’t you?” 

The way Natasha said it was so deadpanned, it was downright scary - that the mere thought of setting people up was a monstrosity on its own and anyone who ever went down with that trick didn’t deserve their life. Sam blanched.

“Of course not. What am I, five?”

“Good.” 

“If I’m setting you guys up, I’d tell you on your face and not do the whole relationship sherpa thing.”

Sam felt something caught his eye as he said it on the scene below - the disaster in the bar had drawn to a close, hallelujah - and this time, it was something __more__  interesting.

“You can’t be one when you’re out here sneaking glaces at Maria Hill and not do anything about it.” 

He made the effort to look surprised, except there was no surprise there that Natasha knew. Oh how the tables have turned on him. He couldn’t expect any less from the master spy, after all. “Which is _exactly_ why I am not doing the relationship sherpa thing and telling you on your face that yes, I am setting you up.” 

“Which proves __exactly__  you are indeed, five.”

“You’re not any better, Miss Romanoff, that with the whole junior high he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not you guys are playing,” Sam retorted with a snort. “Haven’t we learned, Nat?”

“What?”

“That time is a luxury as much as it’s of essence?”

Natasha had nothing to say to that.

“So do tell me when you’ve both figured it out, ok?”

 _Sooner than later_ , Sam hoped. 

It was a win, and the ex-soldier offered his arms to wrap the spy up on a hug if she was well pleased to take him up on it. Natasha smiled at Sam with a classic roll of her eyes, a feeling of understanding enveloping them both. 

“You can say it. Come on.” 

“Hmm.”

“Say it. Say, __thank you Sam, it’s not every day someone shuts me up for good, but you are so wise so thank you.__ ” 

Pulling out of his embrace, Natasha patted both of his cheeks with affection, her hands landing on top of his shoulders, dusting off imaginary lint from his polo shirt.

“Thanks Sam. It’s not every day…” 

She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, whispering, “that someone gets the flair for writing Hallmark cards, so you might want to consider that as a side career.”

Oh the irony. 

“But for now, go get your girl.” 

Natasha gave him a smile that could not be described as anything else but beautiful and full of meaning - and Sam kept that close to his heart with a newfound resolve. Oh the irony, was definitely not lost on him. But he cherished this moment on their friendship a little bit longer, of time being both the luxury and of essence. Sam was glad to have her back. He hadn’t want to leave her and their rare easy night out sipping mean martinis, but he needed to go on about his business and show his friends how it was done. 

“Hey Nat?”

Lesson one. 

“He never called Sharon,” Sam said with a smile. “Thought you should know." 

The smile she gave him meant she was glad to have him back too.

“ _Thank you_ , Sam.”

* * *

As he watched Sokovia go down in dust in the television during his break on the VA, he had hoped that it was not the last time he talked to both Natasha and Steve. He hoped his friends had made it out alive. 

There was an unbidden thought of the image of the two of them standing all over the ruckus, watching for the right moment of sacrifice to play - because his friends were selfless heroes as much as they were, to put it bluntly, dumb. 

__Of all the dumb decisions they had to make -_ _

(At one point in time he would find out, he was not that far off from the truth. He chided them with their dramatics to mask the drop on his heart at the thought that he almost lost them both back then.)

* * *

“Ariel.” 

“The mermaid?” 

“Red hair?”

“Oh. Figures.” 

When Sokovia was all but a memory, they took the remaining Maximoff twin under their wing. Wanda started off a bit shy, closed off and reserved and Sam took it as his own responsibility to look out for her like an older brother would. With the others joining in - Vision, War Machine - their team dynamics had started off shaky. With the loss of the more senior Avengers, Natasha and Steve partnered to train them - not only to harness their abilities or control them, but to work as a team. They had the experience and the leadership to back it up too. Some of the old Avengers in pseudo-retirement still visited from time to time, so it all happened just like that, like a new routine - Sam was learning how to be part of this team of dysfunctional people he started to call his family. Over time, sparring sessions became hang-outs and hang-outs became movie nights and trivia weekends. For some, perhaps date nights but he was going to say he had _absolutely_ no idea about that.

When they were not out saving the rest of the world, they make do with the luxury of time. 

“How about you, Natasha?” 

The redhead spy glanced at the younger woman across the common dining, her fingers still typing on her laptop. “What?"

“Disney princess?”

“Uhh?” 

“Oh, hell you don’t - we had Disney 101 for Steve for two straight weekends.” 

“I slept through the most of it?” 

“Did I hear someone say sleeping through the most of something?” As if on cue, Steve came into a view holding two cups of good-smelling coffee, a tablet perched in his arms. “Looks like I’m right on time.” 

(“Literally __nobody__  said that.” Wanda turned to look at Sam for confirmation. 

“He is _that_ bad at flirting,” Sam explained, “might as well get used to it.”) 

“Thanks, Cap.” Natasha accepted the warm cup, with a smile on her face just about as bright. Steve turned into the other room, perhaps to start another conference as he had been doing all morning, leaving an affectionate pat on the shoulder to the redhead and a nod to the other two people across the room. What Natasha failed to notice was the way Sam looked at the small exchange, all along knowing that her gaze never left the captain’s form until he disappeared inside the room.

 _‘No chance, no way, I won’t say it no, no -’_  

When Natasha returned his gaze (with quite glinting eyes - and if it was from his singing or what he was singing about, he dared not to ask) with hands full of coffee back into the conversation, Sam only nodded at her, as if to reassure her there was nothing wrong with the way she was acting. That in time, she could say - as he would quote-  _it's okay you're in love._

"Megara." 

And then Lagos happened.

* * *

_**tbc.** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The mean martini reference is from an anecdote given by Tom Hiddleston regarding Scarlett.  
> 2) Thank you Google, for the very rough Turkish translation when Sam was enjoying his expensive wine alone.  
> 3) Thank you Google, for all the list of the expensive wines.  
> 4) Sam knows a bit on the internet memes because he is cool and he will be the next Captain America.
> 
> Someone said that you should write for yourself, and I intend this story to be exactly that, my therapy of sorts - but to all the readers who checked on the first chapter, and to those who came back for this second one and reading this, thank you for your time and I hope it was worth your stay. This chapter was particularly difficult to write as I had to squeeze my head around what could have happened on AoU era with Sam and in relation to Steve and Natasha so I flip flopped HARD. I am glad, make it a small victory, to take this out of the way. 
> 
> (Also yay me, I'm really doing a multichaptered fic in this age?)
> 
> May mercies still abound for any OOCs. See you hopefully sooner than the last.


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Was not. If I had said that, and I’m still going by your dumb decisions, then what would that make me?”
> 
> “A friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Marvel, or the MCU, or any of its characters.
> 
> If I had, Steve and Natasha would have already been the ultimate power couple of the said universe and Sam Wilson will be the next Captain America.
> 
> (I had written that disclaimer before Endgame, and I'm glad to come back to knowing one half of it came true.)
> 
> As for Steve and Natasha, if I owned the MCU, they both would still be alive. I said what I said.

“Can I come in?”

There was that faint evidence of stress in her features - and it was painful to see, in light of everything that had happened in less than forty-eight hours. Steve would have needed the talk, more than anyone, but Sam figured she was in no better position than their captain was. They had that annoying ability to share everything together anyway, whether in speech or glances - in sickness and health and now too also, both of them teetering by the edges at the brink of the collapse of the team. Their family. 

Perhaps, maybe, until death do them part. There would be no surprises there. 

_(If he had known back then that in these white tiles was where it was all going to end up, he would have laughed, cried and then smacked his face real damn good.)_

“Sure.” 

Natasha’s space was all methodical litter, like every bit of the person that she was. If her coat was hanging by the study chair, it _should_ be there - as if there was a purpose behind it being not on the rack. If there were cords hanging by the bedside table in a systematic disarray, they served a purpose. And if he took notice any of Steve’s belongings in that room - _that cap, that blue hoodie, and isn’t that…?_ \- they too, served a purpose that he had no claims to know what. _Methodical_. 

“You okay?” 

“Shouldn’t you ask that question to someone else?” 

She roamed around her room as he stood not far off from where he was, by the door, the moment he stepped in. Sam knew Natasha found his presence comforting rather than intrusive but even in the familiarity, he respected her space.

“I’m here because I wanted to ask _you_.”

“And you don’t have much time,” she countered, eyeing the suit he had on. “And you also know I’m better than some, but thank you very much for asking.”

Natasha let her words trail off, as if they meant more than she was letting on. In understanding, Sam relented, changing the topic and letting her have her way.

_So._

“You’re still going to convince him.” 

It was his turn to eye her ensemble, an elegant black dress that told him she was about to head off to that same place he was going. Natasha shrugged.

“Not that there is much to convince, but I have to try.”

“If there’s anyone else in this whole wide world who could do it, it would be you." 

“What, like it’s hard?”

He found himself grinning ear to ear, a bit out of place given the recent events, as he accepted the can of beer he was offered when the spy walked over to him. The memory fleeted in his mind - them on a late-night movie marathon, with Wanda ending up convinced she would have been a good lawyer, and maybe she should pursue it, then Steve had said that there should be integrity in court and in pursuing justice and therefore no magic mind tricks should be used, to which Natasha argued where was the fun in all that - 

Before this death, before this tension, before Lagos, where everything else was simple as they could be in the lives they led.

“You know how he is,” he turned to her, with a gentle squeeze on the shoulder for comfort and assurance. “And I know how you are. Maybe. All I know is that somehow you both make it work. You always do.” 

“And where does that leave you?” 

“I go where he goes, only slower, remember?” 

Natasha stepped into his space without words and offered him a hug. Sam had no idea he needed the comfort but he leaned into her all the same. 

“Take care of him, Sam. And take care of yourself, too.”

He would have wanted to say, _see you in a minute_ \- or _it will be alright._ But Natasha was a soul who grieved silently, and the words would be of the wind. 

Still. 

“Nat?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You always have been the best of us. I hope Steve knows that.” 

Some words needed to be said.

* * *

_Who can say where the road goes_

_Where the day flows, only time_

_And who can say if your love grows_

_As your heart chose, only time_

“Margaret Carter was known to most as the founder of SHIELD…” 

Sam supposed he _sinned_ \- he was in a church, in a funeral for goodness’ sake - when he nudged Steve on his left as Sharon Carter stood to give her eulogy. For the record? That was involuntary. If Steve had asked him what was it about, he would have replied _what was that about?_

So he was thankful his friend only gave him a look. 

To make matters worse, but God forbid anyone ask him _why_ it would make matters worse, he knew Natasha was also there in the crowd paying homage. He tried to focus on Sharon’s words when a pang of guilt suddenly hit him - _for what exactly?_  - soft and gentle, very much unlike how it should be when it spelled the word _traitor_ in his wake. _Of what exactly?_

Tired, confused and jet-lagged were all to blame. That and Natasha was right as she always was, he was five years old. Maybe he only turned five yesterday.

“Is everything ok?”

_So who cares if Natasha and Sharon were both there? They were all grown up adults for fuck’s sake. All they had was a date that never happened, because of a call that should have happened that also never happened, and it was Natasha’s idea anyway in the first place -_

“Sam.”

“I’m good, Steve. Maybe I just need some air. Or water. Or food. Or all of it.” 

 _We all have funny ways to cope with stress._ And Sam would have appreciated the humor of it all if he was not being reduced to a five year old playing parent trapping. 

He felt rather than saw Natasha when the service ended and the crowd slowly thinned - by the church entrance, watching with calculated interest each person who spoke to Captain America in light of the SHIELD’s founder’s death. 

On his far right, there stood Sharon Carter waiting for her turn. So Sam took it upon himself to come over, break the ice, say hi and not leave a lady waiting for too long.

_What would Steve Rogers do?_

Their eyes met in brief recognition and with muttered breath, he sauntered across to where she was, a smile on his face. 

“This is awkward.”

 

_(Vision and Wanda turned both their heads at him._

_Uhh._

_In hindsight, Sam would have deemed wise not to look at either, or both of them, especially Wanda - but he did, and she had that **look** on her face.   _

_“Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why. I know nothing.”_

_But that was futile, considering who he was talking to._

_They went on a brief mission discussion before they had a much needed reprieve - Sam took a long relaxing shower on his own room, which was stellar compared to those rickety motels. Top notch even with the best option they had - and by this he meant, a wide room enough for two people to fit in, with one being super soldier size._

_He knew **absolutely** nothing.   _

_“They’ve been notified. T’challa would be expecting us in an hour.”_

_Steve took a seat beside Natasha as he mouthed his thanks, the latter not leaving her eyes to her laptop - probably doing some last minute data mining now that they were able to have some hands-on to real tech._

_Some refreshment, quick showers, quick tea - this was Sam’s favorite luxury at the moment and in an effort to pace this short-lived blessing, he stretched his legs out on the couch just about the time Wanda and Vision had walked in._

_“So how ****hard** ** was it exactly to notify us that Dr. Banner has gone back to the compound to meet us?”   _

_And if either Steve or Natasha noticed how the rest of the world got suspended in mid-air - the way Wanda never really made it to her seat by an inch more, and how Sam had stretched his legs awkwardly, never making it to the right angle - they paid no mind. The rest of the world was also quick to action, with Sam springing on his feet offering, “I’m going to make more tea.”_

_Wanda was biting her lip to stop the smile that was starting to form on her face when they later passed by each other on the pantry - a small smile that was a mix of cheekiness and second-hand embarrassment. It was a sight to see, such a small joy, knowing this was her reprieve, her should have been’s - the human dynamics of a family - she deserved that and more for everything she had been through in her life._

_“Of all the dumb decisions they have made?”_

_They shared a knowing smile._

_Who knows when they would have the chance again?)_

 

* * *

If Natasha tried, and she failed, then the matter has been decided.

That was how he found himself sitting by the bar, waiting for Steve to end his call. Probably Natasha. Probably second-guessing himself as the seconds tick by, and he needed some sort of reassurance he would still have her back. Like she would _ever_ turn her back on him. _I hope Steve knows that._ Damn.

With all due respect to him, Sam knew he __does__ , but even the greatest of humankind had to trip over themselves sometimes even if it was just to be reminded what it was like to fail.

“She told you to stay out of it?”

At the sight of Steve’s calm distress, he could only add, “Might have a point.”

“He’d do it for me.”

“In 1945, maybe. I just wanna make sure we consider all our options. The people that shoot at you, usually wind up shooting at me.”

Steve only offered a wane smile. 

“Of all the dumb decisions…?” 

To which Sam returned a pointed look.  

“You were this close to saying it.” 

“Was not. If I had said that, and I’m still going by your dumb decisions, then what would that make me?” 

“A friend.” 

Sam mused that he could learn a thing or two from Natasha. Where logic would fail, or where hearts would - there lay an opportunity to _trust _,__ like a friend who was close like a brother. Someone that at the moment, Steve _really_ needed. 

 

But then again, _if_ , Natasha said they needed to stay home, and intervening would only make matters worse, then perhaps - 

Perhaps the matter has been decided. 

“For the record, this is what making things worse looks like.” 

Steve had not bothered with a reply. At least he still had some semblance of sense to shut his mouth. Sam could only be half-grateful he was alive. At least.

_"Was not. If I had said that, and I’m still going by your dumb decisions, then what would that make me?”_

_“A friend.”_ __

“But dumb, nonetheless.”

 And Steve had to smile at that.

* * *

With everything in him that kept on going for the past forty-eight - seventy-two hours - and counting, he hoped that was the worst of it.

But when Sam heard the words, that one that has been said many times, he knew the worst was just about to come.

And Steve should have seen it coming, too.

“You kissed her.”

“Sam.”

“Of all the dumb decisions you had to make —”

Steve strapped on his head gear with an expression that said the conversation should have ended a minute ago. “This is hardly the place and the time.” 

“We’re out for an all time showdown in a few seconds. With people who can break our necks if they choose to. Or maybe accidentally.  Then we die.  _When_ is the place and the time?”

His captain chose to ignore that. 

“I saw you. Weren’t you egging me on?” 

“I was, for a second there. Until I remembered Natasha and... damn. _Of all the dumb decisions you had to make — _“__  

“What’s this got to do with Natasha?” And with the look on his friend’s face when said it, Sam thought even __he__ didn’t believe that. 

“It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that. And you’re sounding like a broken record.” 

“And you’re an idiot. You know it _is_ what it is. And the broken record thing? Have been for years. Comes with the territory.” 

Sam was the friend, the dumb friend who went by the dumb decisions, but the friend nonetheless. _I hope Steve knows that._ When he handed him the shield, Sam made sure Steve _knew_ it. 

“Also? I ain’t about fixing this broken record, not at least until you pull your head up from your ass.” 

“Are we still talking about this fight or Natasha?” 

“Both. Everything.” 

“With friends like you, who needs enemies?”

Sam adjusted his own gear, surveying the ground. It could be anytime now. 

“Funny hearing that from you. Our enemies out there? They were also our friends.”

* * *

It would be a good while before Sam would see Steve again, and a longer while before he would see Natasha again.

Barton paced tirelessly. Scott Lang kept drumming his fingers against the wall. Wanda sat on her bed, unmoving, eyes closed.

He hoped that was the worst of it, but boy he had been wrong.

 

Stark had come off to visit, more like offered to help incognito, and then it had been a tiring game of waiting - so fucking tiring, even if there was nothing to do but wait.

Steve showed up eventually. His Captain America shield gone, Bucky gone in Wakanda, and maybe the rest of who Steve used to be - all gone. Then the rest of their friends followed - Barton and Scott Lang back to their families with limited freedom, then Wanda to a place where she could hide and lay low.

They used to be this dysfunctional group of weirdos alike, like bandits on a road trip. Like a team of individuals, heroes in their own rights, off to save the world.

Then it was down to him and Steve, just like the old times.

_The dumb, and the dumber._

* * *

 

The word he was looking for was quaint.

It was small, with intricate patterns on the wall, unexpectedly homey situated right in the corner of a dark alley. Dark alley number twenty four, not that he was counting.

“Whiskey?”

“Scotch.”

“Of course.”

 

_What’s love got to do, got to do with it,_

_What’s love, but second hand emotion…_

__

Sam took a sip of his drink, a wicked concoction of some popular Scottish drink of ginger and rhuburb - from Edinburgh, as the bartender had boasted with that thick Scottish accent he had quite gotten used to over the weeks. It lived up to its popularity as he felt the burn in his throat. And with it came the wondering, the thoughts on how they ended up on a quaint bar on a quiet night. He wanted to ask Steve if this was some sort of recreation or down time - God knows they both need one and that he was not made to be on the run, and oh he _knew_ that now - but his friend was all about drowning himself in silence, as if he was _waiting_. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

The next time Sam saw Natasha, she was blonde. 

 

_**tbc.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Malie, advance happy birthday. If you'd ever get to read this at least. 
> 
> Uhh tenses still kill me. May mercies still abound for any OOCs and for all the grammar errors. I am cringing as I reread everything and spot all the wrong things.
> 
> May you enjoy the life post-Endgame. 
> 
> References to Legally Blonde, Avengers: Endgame, Enya's Only Time and all they own respectively.
> 
> To Steve and Natasha, what is dead may never die.
> 
> (In Far From Home end-credits, the Red Skull awaits in Vormir. He tenses slightly as he turns over to look -
> 
> "Steven, son of Sarah.")
> 
> See you all in 2020. (But I don't intend for this fic to be finished by 2020, hopefully 3 more chapters in and I'm done with this module of my therapy. Thank you for journeying with me.)


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